"unseal" poems
in the secluded shell
of night
crimson lips unseal
cosmic stillness stirred
flower ripples tinted
with touches tender
on quivering skin
in moon’s breast
burns a fire tonight
the primeval fire of passion
in it melt
crystals of our emotions
pristine
a night-sky
bliss-soaked
bejeweled
stars hanging complicit
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
Hello Poetry
Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.
And here you are.
Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.
The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.
So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
May 2013
---------------------------------------------------------
Who's Who In Poetry
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was,
yet is,
because of you,
in poetry.
---------------
Postscript (1/25/17)
Even more true today, than four years ago.
Thank You.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
All love must end
Lovers are doomed
But don't unseal
this secret tomb
while wedding bells
are still in bloom
and we lie fast
in our small womb
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 5:27 AM UTC
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers,
these tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
in the army of orphans,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to the rabbled boors,
the imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
*When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
taste his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
becoming one who was, yet still is,
because of you,*
because of poetry.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
Whence came his feet into my field, and why?
How is it that he sees it all so drear?
How do I see his seeing, and how hear
The name his bitter silence knows it by?
This was the little fold of separate sky
Whose pasturing clouds in the soul’s atmosphere
Drew living light from one continual year:
How should he find it lifeless? He, or I?
Lo! this new Self now wanders round my field,
With plaints for every flower, and for each tree
A moan, the sighing wind’s auxiliary:
And o’er sweet waters of my life, that yield
Unto his lips no draught but tears unseal’d,
Even in my place he weeps. Even I, not he.
2.1k
As the moon shines I see nothing,
No lights, no people, only darkness.
I wonder if I have become blind,
With eyes wide I stare.
I wish for light, but receive only shadows,
They tower over me and I fear,
Why has this happened? Is this a dream?
Nothing has ever terrified me more.
Through quaint eyes appears a figure,
Luminous
Have I awoken? Or is this still a dream?
I become frigid, stiffened with distress.
Alas, the sight becomes clearer,
Wider still my eyes unseal,
It is magnificent, beautiful, and breath-taking.
The sight is you.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 7:57 PM UTC
•
*You’ve unseal all chains that keep my windows shut,
Open it valorously,
And let the sunshine in,
You let illumination enter my soul and detonate light that vivify my slumbered happiness,*
**You came, my knight in shining armor!
Oh, how you save me from my pitch-black world!**
*You draw near and kneel in front of me,
As the light from the opened windows brush your countenance,
I saw your feet from below,
Scintillating,
For you are heavenly armored,
Your left hand wrap around my neck,
And your right hand lift my chin,
Tears gush out from my eyes as your lips press against mine passionately,*
Love spark between us,
I found my refuge in you from that very moment,
Assurance envelop and hope flourish within me.
*You offered your hand to lead me the way,
You walk gaily with me while holding my hand tightly,
My eyes are affix to you, with only your visage I can see a glimpse of heaven,
You’ve welcome me in your paradise!
I was in such elation and you colored my eyes with lustrous hue.*
*You guide me through the rhythm of your genuine love,
I dance and sway with you as your love enter and penetrate me from within,*
Our smiles stroke the skies with beauteous tints and limn rainbows from it.
*You tour me to the garden of your love,
And yellow flowers fill the surroundings,
They bloom as we pass through them,
For our happiness spread seeds in the land,
And our love make them grow.*
Then you carry me to the sea,
**And storms start to rage out,
Winds blew to its extremity,
Demons are starting their travail to us,
To separate us through agonizing excruciation !**
*But we enfold each other tightly and lock fingers together,
We tread dauntlessly into the sea,
As God walk together with us,
Storms calm and the sun rise up and gleam in us,
For our love creates peace, and brings exhilaration and serenity.*
*We gleefully celebrate the victory of our love,
We stride to the mountains and soar high into the skies,
We lie down in the clouds and stare at the moon and the twinkling stars,*
**I lean my head into your chest and your arms wrap around me,
I stretch my arms, hug you firmly,
We delightfully cuddle,
And my legs lock against yours,
My hair together became our blanket,
With the euphonious sound of your heartbeat,
I fell asleep in your loving embrace,
And with the moonlight gleaming to us,**
We dream,
TOGETHER.
with love <3
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
You are free to read
Free to feel
Free to analyze
Free to unseal
You have the right
To hear through your mind's eye
But you have no right
To judge and criticize
Yes, we are writers
We are poets
We are here to express
We are not puppets
For I am a writer
And I want to show
Every kind of story
That one must need to know
When I say "I"
It wouldn't always means "me"
It could be someone
Can't you hear and see?
I am just me
See it with your mind's eye
A writer that is free
Unless you woudn't try...
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
every other girl is being chased
by the short hand of midnight
to leave their prince charming
before the stroke of twelve
and arrive home as normal ladies
sleeping with the memory of their trysts
under their pillows and inside their dazed minds
unknown to their families and even their animal friends
hiding away in secret gardens
i struggle a few hours earlier than them
singing for a love unsure
to break my curse
before the dusk seeks my soul
and drags me down
to the depths of turbulent undercurrents
where memories are drowned by time and space
and only the noise of rushing water
clashing against cold blood can be heard
i must find this love from one above the land
where his kiss will unseal the words of my hand
and i think i've found this love so true
but how am i even able to swim to him
when he only lives and shines in the dim
--when he's the man who's of the moon?
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
A girl, there is, Random,
Known and observed Seldom.
Eyes of her's stare, lost and straight,
Dunno for what sight, they patiently wait.
Her Hands are always closed,
To hold them noone's forced.
But when they slowly unseal,
Tremble in her slender fingers starts to reveal.
Sometimes she closes her eyes,
When its hard to hold tears.
They flow like pearls from oyster,
I imagine to form, from them, a cluster.
And sew them using the golden sunrays,
My fingers wish to caress her face.
Every step of her's stumbles,
Her eyes depict, how with every beat her heart crumbles.!
I silently slide my fingers into hers while on a walk with her by the promenade,
She smiles, struggling with all her effort, sipping lemonade.
Her voice seems to have lost in the incidents of the past,
Her face, agony, casts.
I wish sometimes to find the deathly hallows,
But they clearly concluded in the film what follows.
Leaving that thought I pray to god to not seperate love from its lover,
Without sun's existence, won't it be hard to survive for Sunflower.?
Filled with void I too sometimes shed tears with her,
Ill never leave your hand, but, for once, just let go, dear little sister.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
*Bygones are bygones
Another chance to unseal the current
Don't bemoan over what's missed
Wield and shield
What you have to generate fun
Step ahead to perfection
Learn, learn, and learn
From everything and everyone
On this note welcome 2015
May this year bring you
Felicitous moments umpteen*
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Opens with some lucidity
after the world has gone limp
like marionettes
slides up to a good posture
and the everything rises
and blooms
All is well-enough
Not to do any-thing
Sit back a relax
People crave the expected,
Give em' the song and dance act:
Unseal her, let the air out
Pretend her hair is different
Let the left-over shape mean something
Make it the secret of Life
Cue the yellow hue
live your memories in a fuzzy lens
Slow the images, it's raining sunshine
Demi-god celebrities play your part
you're the star
be able to keep your heart
in one place
lock it up
Take a pause. . . . . .
Hit the spotlight, change the focus, transfer the weight
shift
the
burden
Wide eyed shot
dark shadows back alleys open veins
american pulp love with an insanity twist
Make the events your life
dislocate the easiness
Cut to the bed
torn to shreds
Blood slow on the back, warm wine on the wrist
all reddened by friction
Drop
Strange the angle change
dunce cap and a corner prayer
the catharsis framework
Go back to the clear cut beginning-end
crawl through the webbed nothingness
the vapor of conversation
reality pushed upon
the drooling stranger through the
bedroom window
eyes like a bone-saw, artificial
Pity
him
Become
him
Time has been extended over the back-lit stage
a lucky break waking up with an adrenaline needle in your chest
a resuscitation
Take the life from the shelf
Contradict yourself, very well, Contradict yourself
Make the impossible concrete, the unreal cities grow like roses
Cut to Black
rip a hole for light, you're gonna need it
Role the credits, see the forgotten names which mean forgotten faces
you've hung on
sit in the dark
clap to yourself
to this far away distraction
you're the hero and you've made it make sense in the rearrangement
of
blood
love
and voyeurism
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
Dear Poetry,
I left you for a month.
I’ve ignored you so much
but I’m sorry.
I need you, you’ve help me when the going gets tough.
You’ve helped me when all the sentences and phrases I say don’t unseal or make any general sense,
You’ve helped me express myself
When I am just a speechless coward and
When I have no audacity to speak for my own conscience.
You give them a home,
All my mixed emotions and letters
You call them
poetry.
Sense full or senseless
Forgive me,
I need you, I need you more than before.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
You know that moment, when you’re tired. Tired and frustrated of actually nothing. You think what’s wrong with you, but that moment, you just want to go to your room, away from everyone and everything and let everything out. You’re so tangled in your thoughts that you just want to lie down and think and then you start having those scary thoughts, which make you feel confined. You seal yourself in your room and think of murdering your mind, for it talks too much. You unseal your room and decide to go for a walk. You walk, you jog, but both, your mind and your heart start fighting so loudly that you stop. You stop, and ask them to shut up, but the civil war inside your body never does. You decide to leave everything away and start afresh, you do. You change your city, you change your address, you keep changing everything, until you realise that past will always be permanent. For your, thoughts, will always haunt you, making you, the prisoners of your past, until you start sharing, until you start talking. Your heart may weep at night, your eyes may bleed in the morning, your ruthless brain may say it’s all gonna be okay, you may feel that you’re buried five feet under your thoughts, without a coffin, nothing will be okay, until you start talking, start sharing. You’re so engrossed in your thoughts that you do not hear the honking of the car, until the driver comes out and shakes your body. For maybe, you’ve left your past behind, but the past would never leave you. You’d drown yourself in the ocean of thoughts sailing in the ship of tequila, until it te quils you. -@enchantingnachokitten
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
You are to be found far and wide within
Me and out, flowing through veins, inundating
Entirety. Ancient drops of you concealed
In stars released through showering debris,
Rendering existence possible, your absence
Intolerable, instincts in eternal search of you.
Intimacy in little opaque cabins made of glass,
Ceramic tubs, algae basins, riverbeds, by shores
Where feet don’t touch, blanketing granular materials,
Silicon dioxide in the form of insoluble quartz, calcium
Carbonate from shells and skeletons of organisms,
Corals and molluscs losing you forever, stranded in deserts.
I allow you all for you know how, to gently
Lick and lap thirsty skins, totality of my body
Hankering after vital substance as you take control
Of me, manipulating vibrations with mastery, unaware
Of your nature, crucial lymph, my only lover,
Forcefully penetrating cavities and pores.
I shut my eyes to your caress, yearning
For profundity, melting desiring fusion as
I unseal my lips to drink of you, inebriating
The perfect system longing to redefine
Itself through absorption, recognising
Its consistency, you within and out.
Your power soothes my consciousness, heals
My ills, paces my movement as your sound
Orchestrates, my heartbeat and breath to
The rhythm of universal quantum. You are old.
Billions of years constantly mutate your state
From ice to vapours, though I crave for you most
In liquid form.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
Take my soul,
crushed in your palms you quiver with enjoyment,
as you feel it slip through in between your fingers
Unworthy of my smile I laugh instead,
praying deep down within that things would return the same.
The anger flares and swells through my veins,
memory by memory my pulse reaches closer to its ******
Your voice whispers untold lies, but all I hear is screaming.
Are we all meant to be empty handed?
Now I’m not coming back,
I’m just chasing,
what I can't reach.
Clenching to a unrepeatable memory,
the grasp gets more difficult to keep intact
I thought this died so long ago,
but reoccurring shame eats me.
Wounds unseal,
bleeding so much more then ever.
Hold me as it flows.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
Gesundheit;
Just looked back over the letters I never sent
There were so many of them
I can always start but seldom finish
Not just innuendo, trust me,
I wish that it were
That would be a better problem to have
Grandfather ambled about,
In some strokes standing as still as a
Clock and waiting for me to
Wind him. I didn't just then,
Too rusted. Peered through the blinds,
Some light spilled in, I sunk further
Under the covers like Nosferatu,
Dracula, accurate.
Demon.
Eventually he left me to
My slumber again but the
Tranquility was disturbed,
****** left the lid to the coffin
Wide open.
Later I shifted about,
Slinking around different eaves,
Trying to disappear
From the frames of any
Francophilic voyeurs,
I can never find them
Though I know they're always there
Later still returning to the
Origin point of that morning
Finding grandmother now occupying
That plot where I bury and unseal and bury again
She asked if she should leave
But I assured her I'd tell her
Were that ever the case
Though I surely wouldn't:
She's sensitive like I am,
She knows all the signs from her youth abroad
Her mother alternating between
Stints of fox and hare in as
Many rapid cycles
of the phases of the moon
Tareyton smoke drifting over
The damp gardens of tea leaves
She read for prophecies always
Served to keep her steady until
They walled her up in a mattress room
Some of us aren't designed for this place
The coveted excuse of genes,
These weaknesses are inherited traits
A return call from the doctor
Too distracted to find a pen
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC
Deep in the forest I unclothe myself
Unwrap the canvas from my left foot; right foot
Step into layers of cotton, silk and wood
To be alone here is not similar to back then
Walk over to the dimly lit branches
And climb inside the home waiting for me
Made of mud, sticks, rocks, moss, branches
And inside a carved chair sits entirely still
I roam the woods at once when my eyes are stirred from sleep
I lay my palms upon the bark of wild berry trees
And **** the nectar from the queen of all the bees
Finding comfort in a nature both the dry spells and the steam
My body is not a temple, my body is not a trap
My body is cells and bones and skin
With love inside of that
Nature nurtures to my heart, my soul is kept miles apart
So only in the deepest woods will I unseal the soul I struck
With golden chains and silver locks to save me from the world
The suffering of the world
I stay inside the woods today, I stay inside the woods tomorrow
I have not forgotten the woods at all, although my heart has been hallowed
I hide between the bushes and I sit in the carved chair
The one that you carved for me years ago and decided to put in there
Things are weary since you've gone, left the forest all alone
But I still feel your spirit flying near me as it has been all along
Deep in the forest I soothe my own wounds
I treat my own burns, I pick my own scars
But only once they have fully healed
I am all the things I do to others until others disappear
And then I am what's inside of me and that's what you'll find here
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
I’ve seen too much from behind these lids.
I've learned that the dark is no place I can rest.
It shows me everything that hides, or is hid,
Inside every pulse within others foul heads.
I flinch at any kindness like it's going to bite.
For not every smile is given to me to stay.
I keep my room the brightest at night—
So, when I see me, I won't look away.
My body is here, I think. Maybe in part.
But rest is somewhere I left, unclaimed.
I built shrines of silence inside my heart,
Where I hid my echo and gave it a name.
When I am asked, why I never sleep,
A version of me steps in front just to lie.
Cause sleep is a place that's way too deep,
For someone who feels like they already died.
I’ve felt myself moving under my skin—
I'm an actor mouthing some borrowed truth.
I close up and break. The thoughts swarm in.
As I choke on even their quietest proof.
I stay wide awake thinking pain will pass.
It doesn't. It stayed here and laid in my bed.
My comfort is a window of shattered glass—
It never begs me to fix my fractured head.
I taught myself how to speak under pause,
And how not to feel, with blood and meds.
You know love exists? Then show me the clause,
Stating “nothing that lives, is punished when dead.”
I almost opened my heart once. And It burned.
Not with fire—just light I knew I shouldn’t touch.
You say your worth trust? Well see if it returns,
If you abandon it like faith and leave it untouched.
I wish I knew how not to leave my own trail.
But my presence cuts the air, and I can’t pretend.
I stitch it back together, each time I inhale,
My own conscious effort to draw my next breath.
These eyes must stay open. That’s the only rule.
So I count every crack in the wall and the door.
My heartbeats break open. My bloods in a pool.
Not so much now, but that used to mean more.
Might as well be the door, I will not unseal.
Or the me in the mirror would start turning away.
Cause to truly open up, would make it too real.
And nothing that's real in my life, ever stayed.
So never again, will I close my eyes.
Keep your strong skin. And I’ll keep the scars.
I swallowed a lock; in my chest it resides.
And never again, will I open my heart.
Jun 2, 2025
Jun 2, 2025 at 9:57 AM UTC
At twenty five
I threw myself
through bonfires,
looking for a
life beyond the
wood smoke angel.
I would drink
a tenth bottle,
& curse the heart
repeating like a
stuck needle
in the black
groove of years.
Past the burning
rye at the edge
of the wood
cars never stopped
moving, white
pulses dropping
into the well of
the far distance,
folding into the
yellow chambers.
I cancelled myself
quietly on the dark
porch corner
in the watery night.
Then a dozen
years were thrown
across my life.
It's not possible
to explain everything.
But know that I
played roulette
with the sun.
I broke the moon
with song
& repaired it
with verse.
I filled my palms
with grass
& drank the
greenness.
I hurt, terribly,
a breaking sleep.
I lived underneath
a residual shine.
And then you,
my ace of cups.
I lay in the
secret rectangle
while you told
me of the snow
brothel.
I watched metal
birds slouch
the sky.
I walked
the theater
of the lawn
and found
you laughing.
Darling,
those years delivered
me to you like a
letter.
If you
unseal me,
everything you
find inside
is yours.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 1:11 PM UTC
TLACAELEL
The weeks since last we met found Hungry Prince
Of late locked in his tower, casting scrolls
Which chart the star-crossed charms of the occult.
And in the predawn darkness of his arts,
He broke through to a voice from the beyond
Which whispered that the throne of Mexico
Must soon come to be ruled by foreigners.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
And thus the emperor submits to trial,
And these, their wagers, are red herrings, then.
TLACAELEL
To spare us the demoralizing news.
The spirits’ hands will steer them to reveal
If this prognostication failed or not.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
The ***** in motion. Let the gods decide.
TLACAELEL
Motecuhzoma falls! The ball is down! The ball is down!
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Dust rises, and our lord is lost to view!
TLACAELEL
Three in a row! Were we left hanging, then,
For torturers to **** by small and small?
MOTECUHZOMA and HUNGRY PRINCE reappear.
MOTECUHZOMA [aside]
I’ve lost then, but the full significance
Of that word “lost” I’ve yet begun to know.
Gods need not lie, and here we have their words.
Well, let it come. [to Tlacaelel] Unseal the wagers, lord,
And read before these noble witnesses
The stakes we trusted to you at the serve.
TLACAELEL
First, the abortive fee for Hungry Prince:
King of Texcoco, had this victory
Been won by his imperial majesty,
And you had failed, your forfeiture had been . . .
[Opens the first wager.]
The loss of all your lands, your courts, your throne,
And all, for your opponent’s acquisition,
Decoronation to a common man,
And forced prostration to this gentleman.
HUNGRY PRINCE
A staggering ransom! I must thank the gods,
Not for their championing me, but truth.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
Getting too cold for walking this way,
Getting too old from playing these games.
Sweat on my hands expose my emotions,
Revealing my secrets, showing my motives.
Ticking bombs going off,
When they laugh and scoff.
They don’t see it, they don’t feel it.
They lock it away until they unseal it.
Being lost in life doesn’t mean,
You have to find your way to be seen.
Pain will eternally follow you,
So don’t let it be the end of you.
Can’t fall asleep, I’m too tired of me.
Wishing for my dreams to become realities.
I know they are far, I know they are distant.
But I can’t just ignore the feelings deep from within.
Wishing I was better, wishing I was stronger,
No one to read letters, no one to honor.
Fallen mistakes only get worse,
Exactly the same, exactly diverse.
They say humans speak so many words,
But I’m only screaming from how much it hurts.
Yeah I talk all the time, with hope, with doubt.
But only if my whispering conscience counts.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
the Rose that grew from concrete...
the delicate face
of a fragile beauty...
guarded by some tough exterior -
dutifully unacknowledged.
indeed, achieved a great a feat
but still
buried underneath their feet.
everyday trodden;
not once a chance to thrive -
effects of a circadian stampede.
A Rose
that grew for a simple life,
but the beauty within had died.
Her leaves she let wilt,
took every blow she was dealt -
dull thorns now to speak for.
color drained with a droopy stem,
wishing away dark clouds
so then maybe
she would
See more.
Rose.
could she have had it all?
her existence left her nothing.
party of one and the place is full of Rocks.
a stand-alone soldier in a grave situation;
the hurt wouldn't stop coming;
should we pray for such mercies?
she figures...
no singular mercy could unseal her fate
the blade of society is sharp and
against her soft petals it continuously scrape
...when you've felt one pain you've felt them all.
senseless emotions
trigger moisture in the stigma
finally a drop of color -
to the concrete it would fall
rich red
like the Flower
that once cracked those gray walls.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 1:03 AM UTC